Among the Sacred Cities, I Collected Scents and Memories

(4 mins read)

If you ever ask my friends what gift I like the most, they will tell you two things: books or ittar.

I have always loved scented oils. There is something very personal and soulful about them. A small bottle can hold so much character, so much memory. Memories from Kolkata, from Bangalore and currently from different places in Hyderabad. I already had a small collection at home, but after my recent Umrah trip in January 2026, that small collection has now grown into something much bigger.

During my Umrah pilgrimage to Makkah, my only intention was to make the most of my visit to the holiest place in Islam. I wanted to focus on prayers, reflection, and gratitude. But as the days passed, another thought slowly entered my mind that I should take something special back home. Not just as a souvenir, but as a memory. Dates were obvious. And then, of course… perfumes.

Now, Saudi ittar is world famous. When it comes to concentrated scented oils, the Middle East, especially Saudi Arabia and the UAE, makes some of the finest in the world. French perfumes are popular too, especially the spray ones. But technically speaking, they are different. French perfumes are usually alcohol-based sprays like Eau de Parfum or Eau de Toilette. They project more, spread faster in the air, and are often lighter in feel. Ittar, on the other hand, is oil-based. It is concentrated, alcohol-free, and sits closer to the skin. It lasts longer and evolves slowly over time. It feels deeper, warmer, more intimate.

My uncle had already been to Makkah before, so he had some idea about what to buy. My younger brother and I were the curious ones. We contacted a friend who works in Masjid al Haram (lucky him!). He came along with his friend and guided us on what to look for in perfumes. He personally liked “Ranan” and “Ilbrince” from the Majed Al Oudh brand. He also took us around the area near the Haram.

And what an experience that was.

There are so many malls around Masjid al Haram. Every alternate shop is a perfume shop: Oud Elite, Ajmal, Arabian Oud, Rose Perfumes, Al Haramain, Surrati, Ahmed Perfumes, Al Majed, Osma… the list goes on. We tried so many fragrances. Honestly, very few instantly clicked. Sometimes the packaging was beautiful, but the fragrance was too strong. Sometimes it was nice, but too expensive. Choosing a perfume is such a personal thing.

Then we explored some local shops. We were mesmerised by the designs of the ittar bottles. Small 6 ml and 12 ml bottles, beautifully crafted, some with crystals, some with intricate patterns. Even the bottle felt like a souvenir. We spent hours trying different oils, testing them on our wrists, discussing notes, and shortlisting a few. But we decided not to rush. We were going to Madina next, so we thought we would explore the shops there before making final decision.

When we reached Madina, we were almost certain about one brand — Surrati. It felt right for us. Reasonable pricing, strong essence, and fragrances that suited our taste.

We searched on Google Maps and found a Surrati outlet very close to our hotel. Surrati is actually a heritage perfume house from Saudi Arabia. They are known for blending traditional oriental notes like oud, musk, amber, and florals with a slightly modern touch. They offer both concentrated oils (attar) and Eau de Parfum sprays. Their scents are usually deep and long-lasting, perfect for evenings or special occasions.

After trying many options, we finally bought three 100 ml bottles (Escape, Bakrat Rouje and Monte Blanc). These came in aluminium tin containers. From these, we have to refill smaller bottles for daily use. It may sound like extra work, but honestly, it was worth it.

Apart from that, we bought many smaller 12 ml bottles from different places:

• During ziyarat in Makkah and Madina, we bought Ameer Al Oud from guides who were introducing the historical places in the bus we hired.
• Outside Masjid e Qiblatain, we found some beautiful options.
• In Madina, we were so impressed by one guide’s ittar collection that we called him again and bought a full box of 24 pieces!
• At Lulu Mall near Masjid al Haram, we shortlisted one beautiful oud fragrance but didn’t get time to go back and buy it. Maybe next time, InshaAllah.
• On the second floor of Al Safa Tower near Makkah Clock Tower, we found a small shop with an amazing collection. We wanted smaller quantities of Surrati fragrances like Zamzam, Rawdah, Ehsas and others. The fragrances were truly mind-blowing.

Looking back, I realise it was not just about buying perfumes.

Each bottle now reminds me of a moment: walking near the Haram after prayer, exploring streets in Madina, sitting in the bus during ziyarat, discussing fragrances with my brother, debating over which one smells better. Every time I apply one of these ittars now, it takes me back there.

Umrah was, of course, a spiritual journey first. But these fragrances have become a beautiful extension of that journey. A scent has memory. And my home now carries the soft, warm memory of Makkah and Madina.

Maybe next time I go, I will come back with even more.

And if you are still wondering what to gift me… you know the answer. Books or ittar. 😊

One Evening Outside the Prophet’s Mosque

(4 mins read)

On that particular evening, after Isha namaz, we exited from gate 310 instead of 365.

We were in Madina last month. Anyone who has been there knows how many gates Masjid e Nabwi has. Each gate opens into a different world. For our family, Gate 365 had become our routine. We would meet there and exit from there because our hotel was straight ahead from that gate. It was simple and familiar.

That evening, we decided to change that habit. We said why not take gate 310 and explore a different path. We wanted to see the other side of the masjid. The pathways, the hotels, the shops, and the small museums outside. There was no hurry. We were happy and relaxed, just walking and taking it all in.

As we were moving along, an elderly aunty came up to us. She asked if we were going towards Masjid e Bilal, where our hotel was. We said yes, and she started walking with us. From gate 365, our hotel would be straight. But from gate 310, if you look at the map of the masjid, you have to walk diagonally to reach that side.

After walking for a bit, the aunty suddenly got confused. She realized that her hotel was not exactly near Masjid e Bilal. Fear took over her face. She told us she did not remember the name of her hotel. She did not want to call her son because she was afraid he would scold her. Her son was sick and had not traveled with her. She was in her late 60s, but her love for the Prophet was so strong that she still wanted to visit the Prophet’s mosque.

We tried convincing her to call her son. Finally, she did. But that did not help much. He was new to Madina too, and we were new as well. The directions were not clear, and none of us could figure out exactly where the hotel was.

I was with my full family. Elder parents, young kids, brothers, uncle, aunts, all of them. I could sense their discomfort. Keeping so many people waiting while solving one problem did not feel right. So I asked everyone to continue towards our hotel. I told them I would take the aunty alone and help her reach her son and the hotel.

I took her son’s number and called him. I asked him to share his live location on WhatsApp. That helped a lot. But by then, we had moved a bit far from her hotel. There was an underpass between us and the hotel. We had to walk ahead, cross the road, and then make a U-turn to come back. This made the walk feel longer.

The aunty kept saying this is not the route, the hotel is not this far. I kept calming her down. I told her again and again that we were on the right path. Her bag was not heavy, but she was also carrying her chair. It was difficult for her to walk and carry everything. I offered to carry both for her.

Slowly and steadily, we reached the location her son had shared. He was standing there waiting. The relief on his face said everything. He shook my hand and thanked me. The aunty gave me lots of blessings and duas. In that moment, my heart felt full.

But during all this, something else was happening. While I was crossing the road and talking to her son, my phone kept ringing. First, my wife called. Then my mom. Then my aunt. They all wanted to know where I was and how far I had reached. They were worried because it was night and I was alone. They were scared that this could be a scam. That someone could make up a story, take you to a secluded place, and rob you.

I was surprised, but not shocked. In today’s world, these fears are real. These perceptions have been built over time.

Still, it made me think. I am really intrigued and not convinced about how we as a human race have reached this point. We question and doubt so much before helping anyone. We ask many questions, and only rarely do we decide to help. I have seen it many times. People stand around, watching, but holding themselves back.

It reminded me of something from my college days. A friend and I were walking and trying to cross the road. Suddenly, we heard a scream. A man had been hit by a running bus. He was bleeding badly. A crowd gathered around him. He raised his hand, asking for help. No one moved.

My friend and I looked at each other. No words were needed. We called a taxi and took him to the hospital. We then called our eldest uncle who lived nearby. The first thing he said was, why did you do this. He did not mean it badly, but his concern was clear. He said there were so many people on the road, why did you take the initiative. Now you will have to answer police questions and deal with trouble.

This is the reality today. Many people step back from helping because of fear. Fear of questions, fear of authorities, fear of being blamed, or fear of scams. These reasons are real, but they should not stop us.

That night in Madina reminded me of this again. Sometimes helping someone may slow you down, worry your loved ones, or put you in an uncomfortable situation. But the peace you feel afterward is something else. And maybe, just maybe, that is what truly matters.

Dreams Do Come True, Prayers Do Get Answered

(5 mins read)

From 7th to 21st January 2026, Allah blessed me with the opportunity to perform Umrah with my family.

Seven days in Makkah, four days in Madina, and then two final days back in Makkah.

On paper, it was just a travel plan.
In reality, it was a quiet spiritual turning point.

This is not a guide on how to perform Umrah.
This is just my experience, how it felt, what changed inside me, and how Allah swt gently upgraded my heart.

When Allah Finally Calls

For almost six years, I carried a dream of taking my family - spouse, kids, and parents for Umrah.

Every time we tried, something delayed it. There were document issues for my Abbu, due to which his passport could not be generated. Then came COVID. After that, work commitments, family responsibilities, and one reason or another kept coming in between.

Over time, you begin to understand something very deep. It is not about planning. It is about destiny and what Allah swt has ordained and planned for you.

Only those whom Allah swt calls are able to go. When the call finally came, it felt less like we planned the journey and more like we were invited.

Taking Kids Along, Fear and Faith

Many people advised us against taking children. They said there is a lot of walking, the crowds are huge, kids can get lost, and it is physically exhausting.

We have three kids, 8 years old, 4 years old, and 1.5 years old, and we were worried. I know people meant well, but honestly, it was scary. Especially for my wife. She would often say, “Let’s postpone it till the kids grow older.” I had to keep reassuring her that we would manage and that Allah swt would make it easy.

We planned carefully, took precautions, and kept praying. Using safety straps for the children turned out to be one of our best decisions, especially on the ground floor and during the rush of Sa’i.

The First Time Seeing the Kaaba

The goosebumps started much earlier than expected.

After landing in Jeddah, we boarded the bus to Makkah late at night, around 1 AM. We were tired, but excitement kept us fully awake. As the bus moved closer, the clock tower slowly appeared on the horizon, glowing in all its glory. Those green LED lights felt majestic and comforting at the same time.

Even the air felt different. Breathing the air around Makkah itself felt special.

When we finally entered Masjid al-Haram, and my eyes fell on the Kaaba for the very first time, words simply disappeared. After I returned, my friends asked me how it felt to see the Kaaba for the first time. I told them I had no words to describe it. And honestly, I believe no words can do justice to that feeling. It can only be felt. The heart fills with humility, peace, and overwhelming gratitude. Standing there among millions, you still feel incredibly close to Allah ﷻ. It is emotional, calming, and deeply transformative.

Performing Umrah Together as a Family

We performed Umrah on 8th January 2026, around 10 AM, as a family.

Doing Umrah alone is powerful. Doing it with your parents, spouse, and children is something entirely different. It brings tears without warning and gratitude without limits.

Tawaf was a bit challenging due to overcrowding, especially near Hajar al-Aswad and Maqam Ibrahim. There was some unnecessary pushing, which momentarily breaks focus. But the holiness of the place is so immense that these moments fade away very quickly.

Children See It Differently

Our kids experienced Umrah in their own beautiful way. They were fascinated by the lights, the people, and the kindness around them. They would often receive lollipops and candies from strangers, though in Islam, there are really no strangers.

One day, they excitedly told us that they also wanted to distribute candies to other kids. And they did. Watching that innocence unfold in the holiest of places was a reminder of how pure faith really is.

Life in Makkah, A Different Rhythm

Life in Makkah revolves entirely around prayer.

On Fridays, people start preparing for Jumu’ah very early. Imagine a place where Jumu’ah is at around 12:30 PM, yet people bathe, dress, and leave for the Masjid al-Haram by 9 AM.

On the only Friday we were there, we left our hotel at 9:30 AM and were already worried. The last hotel bus had left, so we took a taxi. All the way, we kept praying, “O Allah, please let us pray Jumu’ah inside the Haram.” And Alhamdulillah, Allah answered.

Madina, Where the Heart Slows Down

Madina has its own charm.

If Makkah humbles you, Madina calms you. There is no rush. The heart naturally learns to stay still. After all, this is the city of the Prophet ﷺ, a place where companions were taught gentleness, humility, and to keep their voices low.

Even today, Madina teaches you how to behave, without saying a word.

in Masjid e Nabwi (Prophet's Mosque)

Learning, Ziarat, and Small Details

During our ziarat in both Makkah and Madina, I made a conscious effort to note important historical places. I pinned them in Google Maps so I could remember and revisit their stories later. It helped me connect history with faith in a very personal way.

Dates, Perfumes, and a Little Shopping Bag

And then there were the shops.

The varieties of dates, the perfumes and attars, the colors, and the fragrances were simply mesmerizing. I was honestly astonished. Spiritual elevation and shopping seem to coexist very peacefully in these cities.

Coming Back Changed

Every prayer felt deeper.
Every dua felt more sincere.

Even with the crowds, there was a calm that stayed with me, and it still does.

You return spiritually upgraded.
More sabr, more shukr, and yes, more shopping bags 😅

A Small Dua Before I End 🤲🕋

🌙 Masjid al-Haram is a place every believer longs for.

May Allah grant everyone the opportunity to visit again and again, with ease, patience, and peace.
Ameen.

When a Long Train Journey Turned into a Sketchbook

(2 mins read)

The train was crowded, our seats were only partially confirmed (RAC), and we were sharing space. Boredom, quite naturally, began to creep in. I wanted to keep screen time low, so I stepped in and asked my eldest son to bring out his moral storybooks. An hour passed, and soon we were looking for something new to do. After a bit of brainstorming, a simple idea , to draw what we could see outside the window.

I had to be the inspiration for my kids. As the train moved, I sketched the landscape passing by: winter fields with harvested rice and wheat, a thin road cutting through them, hills in the distance, and small ponds and lakes scattered here and there. Herds of cows, sheep, and goats grazed along the ground. With just a pen, I tried to freeze these little moments on paper. It wasn’t meant to be perfect, just a way to slow down the journey and make space for imagination.

Once it was done, my kids were surprised by my little messy painting. That fuelled some spark in my 8-year-old. He took the pen from me, exactly what I had hoped for. Inspired by the drawing, he created his own world: tall buildings with kids flying kites from their rooftops, a sky full of movement, and even an aeroplane caught in a kite’s string. 

What started as a simple way to pass time slowly became a shared moment of creativity. It reminded me that when children are given a little space and encouragement, their imagination can go much further than we expect.

Childhood Summers in my village Mouhni: Mangoes, Rain, and Night Sky Full of Stars

(3 mins read)

Image generated using a feature in ChatGPT

I must have been about ten years old that summer, when we went to visit my grandparents in Mouhni, a small village in Bihar, about forty kilometers from Bihar Sharif. Every year, as the sun grew hotter and the mango trees grew heavy with fruit, we would pack our bags and head to the village. Summer meant mangoes, long evenings, and the terrace of my grandparents’ house. It was our second home, where grandparents waited for us with open arms and a basket full of stories.

The terrace was our favourite place. After the afternoon heat, we would throw buckets of water on the hot terrace floor to cool it down. Then, we’d lay out a big old carpet mat and sit together, watching the sun dip behind the fields. Sometimes a neighbour would fly their kites and we would keep looking at them soar high in the sky. From somewhere far away, faint strain of music would drift into our ears, sometimes a radio, sometimes a song from a neighbour’s house. We would stay there until the sky turned orange and then deep blue.

After dinner, we would return to the terrace. There were no streetlights, no smartphones, just the sky full of stars. At the time we didn’t know their names, we didnt know if it was a planet, a star, or just a geostationary satellite. Now, I know that the brightest star is Sirius, the brightest planet is Venus. There are other stars, planets, and constellations that exist ,such as Orion, Palledies, Jupiter, which you can see with your naked eye, but we were unaware of them but that didn't limit our imagination; we gave them our own names. We would watch the stars, trace shapes, and follow the slow movement of artificial satellites until they disappeared into the dark. The radio would hum softly, and its songs would become our lullaby.

One day, after lunch and Asr prayer, we were on our way to the terrace as usual. We were about to take the buckets to cool the tiles when suddenly, dark clouds gathered. It wasn’t the usual monsoon rain. Our elders called it 'Kal Baishakhi' a sudden summer storm. The first rain of the season, and we weren’t ready for it. The sky opened up, and the rain poured down. We dropped our buckets, ran inside, laughing and shouting, and spent the evening cuddled on the cot, reading comics and listening to the rain.

The next morning, the sky was clear and blue. We were bored, so my cousins and some friends from the neighbourhood gathered after breakfast. We decided to go to the nearby Eidgah, which stood on top of a small hill which was about five stories high. There's a legend that our village was once ruled by a queen named Mohini (and hence the name of the village - Mouhuni), and her palace was on that hill. No one knew if it was true, but my grandfather said he and his father had seen the Eidgah since his childhood.

The hill wasn't steep, and climbing it was not difficult, but what we found was even better. The storm had knocked down dozens of mangoes. Raw mangoes, big and small, were scattered everywhere. On the path, on the hill, around the Eidgah, mangoes lay like treasure. We didn’t have much space in our pockets, so we started collecting them in the bottom of our shirts, making little pouches. We were thrilled, as if we had won a great prize. We ran back home with big smiles on our faces.

Image generated using a feature in ChatGPT

A couple of days later, it rained again, just as heavily. The next morning, we were prepared. We took a few polythene bags with us, determined not to miss out on our mango collection. But to our disappointment, we found only one or two mangoes scattered around. The first rain had taken everything. We came back home with long faces, wondering why the sky didn’t share its treasure twice.

Now, many years later, I tell this story to my kids. They listen very attentively, probably planning that when they get a chance to visit a village, they too will go mango hunting after a sudden summer rain. 

Image generated using a feature in ChatGPT